Graft
by Pivot
Summary: Armada: With the trials of separation causing problems for some Minicons, the Space Team gets a chance to play matchmaker and explain a thing or two about themselves. Whether this is good or bad remains uncertain...


_Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't want to. Except for Armourhide, but he's not in this. I shut up now. (Scuttles away.)_

**Graft**

Alone.

It was no way for an Adventure Minicon to be. Dune Runner knew that, felt it in every inch of internal wiring, in the silence that followed him everywhere. And in the moments when he had nothing to do but sit and think, then he felt it, too. There were a lot of those moments.

He had tried to busy himself with some of the technical work around the base (and there was plenty of that, too). Even… alone, Dune Runner was not without his uses: he was the technical voice of his team, and if there was one thing he'd learned in his function, it was adaptability. Not that it was easy, and he became frustrated easily, but work helped, a little.

It would have been hard enough anyway, even without the other Minicons. But they had their teams (or partners, in some cases). They were together; he was alone. His was an uncomfortable subject: conversation was... delicate, cautious, edging around the gaping space at his side, the chasm that separated them, solitary and the team-bound. They didn't know how to deal with him; weren't quite certain of how they should treat the unfortunate in their midst.

He didn't feel like talking, but the others weren't helping. It might have been better, he thought sourly, if they had abandoned such caution and talked to him anyway; perhaps then he wouldn't be so alone. His team would be recovered sooner or later, if he were lucky. As it was… Dune Runner wasn't inclined to hope. He wasn't naturally optimistic, and he'd been alone indoors for far, far too long.

* * *

"You're done."

"Already?" Payload sounded surprised as he sat up and stared at Makeshift. "Either you're gettin' faster or my processors need checkin'."

"As it turns out, you're in surprisingly good condition, especially for someone so heavily involved in every battle for the past few weeks," the medic informed him primly. "The masses flock to your defence, it appears."

"What can I say? My fan club gets bigger every day." The Space Minicon swung his legs over the edge of the surface he was on (the only one not cluttered with assorted bits and pieces from the ship's internal workings).

"So I hear," said Makeshift, a note of disapproval in his voice. Payload winced.

"I know, I know. We're not exactly happy about this whole thing with the Blaster," he reminded defensively. The silver medic turned, and the black Minicon found himself cringing in the face of the other's careful stare.

"Of course you aren't," agreed Makeshift slowly.

"We're workin' on…" Payload began pathetically, but gave up. He couldn't tell Makeshift about the failsafe, no matter how much he wanted to. And Payload _wanted_ to tell him, wanted to explain his team's position, to reassure the other Minicon that they had matters in hand. But if he did, they might lose that advantage. The Space Team dared not let such information out: the risks were just too high.

"I'm sure you are," said Makeshift, after a moment. Then he added, not unpleasantly, "Just remember what's on the other end."

"Right," agreed Payload. He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…"

"Yes?"

"Thing is, Makeshift, there's, uh, something else I was – well, we wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" The Emergency Minicon pulled up a seat and paid attention: when the Space Team sent a spokesbot, it probably meant there were big conclusions ahead. Or at least fireworks aplenty.

Payload nodded. "See, it's- remember Dune Runner?"

"The explorer? Yes, I remember: he came in a few weeks ago. No damage: we kitted him out with an altform, gave him a basic check-up and sent him on his way. Why?"

If he could have taken a deep breath, he might have: Payload gathered himself to broach the most difficult subject he could think of at that moment. "Well, y'see… he's in a team, an'… an' the others… they ain't accounted for."

Makeshift froze. Then he said, slowly, "That… is a very delicate issue." For Payload, it was a warning: ahead lay a conversational minefield.

Faced with such a treacherous path, the black one abandoned his cautious tread and charged in hard and fast. "It's just- we know you and Prowl are missing a partner, and…"

_Oh_, thought Makeshift, realising suddenly.

In the same instant, Payload said, "…We thought that maybe you two could team up with him," and immediately regretted it.

It was a minute before Makeshift answered, with a hint of strain in his voice. "It's an interesting suggestion. And… thank you… for your concern. But I don't think we need to resort to such drastic measures."

"_You_ might not – though I don't believe that, either," exclaimed Payload, anxiety and tension causing him to lose patience, "but what about Dune Runner? And don't think he's got it any easier than you, 'cause he hasn't – matter of fact, he's worse off."

"Is he?" Makeshift's words were laced with disbelief rather than concern, but the circumstances were exceptional; another time, Payload would have forgiven them unconditionally – but he was in no mood to be tolerant.

He narrowed yellow optics and said flatly, "Yeah. He is. You know 's well as I do the only thing worse than a team one 'bot short is a team of one."

"And this is your solution?" snapped Makeshift defensively. _How to make him understand? _"Payload, we just aren't ready to consider replacements – not so soon!"

"I'm not asking you to!" yelled the Space Minicon, equally exasperated, "We don't know if anyone's partners are dead, do we? Shock, you ought to know about that!"

You think Firebot'll be pleased when he gets back and hears you gave up on him? Is this what he expects from you guys?"

Makeshift calmly folded his arms, trying to hide his confusion. What was Payload talking about? "This is irrelevant. Firebot may not be dead: I very much hope he isn't. That doesn't mean this is a good idea."

"That's not what I meant!" Payload realised his error and shook his head in dismay, irritation dying. He tried again. "I'm sorry; I'm doing this all wrong. Look, it's just until you guys find your partners. _Temporary_. Just so you won't be stuck on your own all the time." He spread his hands towards the other Minicon, palms up. "We're trying to help, Makeshift."

The medic gave him an incredulous look. "This is helping? Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to say that," he added hastily as Payload withdrew his hands and gave him a hurt look. "I'm still not sure about this."

"What about Prowl and Dune Runner? Do they get a say in this?" _Some trump card, hey, Payload? But what the frag: it's the best you've got._

Makeshift looked miserable for a moment. "I'm _thinking_ about them. Even if Prowl came around to the idea… Dune Runner would be twice as resistant to it, surely."

Payload stared at him. "You didn't see his file after he came in, did you?"

"Long Arm looked up the records that ti-"

"Huh! No wonder," muttered the black one loudly. "If you had, you'd have known he won't. Not really."

The other 'bot smiled weakly. "Are you sure about that?"

Payload shrugged. "You're gonna try anyhow, aren't you?"

Makeshift looked down and didn't answer directly. "I need to think about this. I'll do what I can: just give me some time to let me get it straight in my head."

Payload winced, making a noise of embarrassment. "Yeah, I, uh, didn't exactly help on that score, did I?" When he didn't hear a reply, he looked directly at Makeshift.

"There's a good enough chance he'll take the offer, you know."

A rare spark of rebellion flared for a second. "What if I don't _want_ him to take the offer?"

"You will," said Payload wearily, heaving himself into a standing position. "We know you will."

Had Makeshift not been himself, he would have thrown the scanner he was still holding: instead, he watched the other Minicon go with no more than a slightly stunned look.

* * *

There are few sorrier sights in the universe than a Minicon who has lost their team.

Skyblast watched in horrified fascination from across the room. There were plenty of Minicons in the room – more than in any other part of the base – but all gave the sand-coloured individual a wide berth. Although Skyblast felt intense pity for the lone 'bot, he felt no more inclination to approach.

If he'd been asked why, the white one would have found it hard to answer. He knew his fear was not entirely rational, but still… it was there.

It was because he belonged to a gestalt, he supposed. The closer the team, the greater the uneasiness such sights induced – and you didn't get much closer than a combiner team. Skyblast wasn't sure of the others, but he knew what he felt: he couldn't escape the thought that _that might have been him_, might still _be_ him, one day, at some unspecified date in the future; it was a reminder of the dread that lurked in many teams these days, the older ones in particular; if anyone, the combiners felt it the most.

Many of the younger Minicons would probably have no trouble dealing with this. Good for them, Skyblast supposed. Times had changed since he had been built.

But teams were still teams. You didn't mess with them.

Beside him, the dialogue he had temporarily forgotten continued.

"You can't ask me to do this."

"But we already have," said Astroscope. He glanced at Skyblast: his white partner was supposed to be doing this, but had become speechless when shoved in front of their target, and was now staring across the room for some reason.

The aforementioned target watched them levelly. "You're kidding me."

"I assure you, we-"

"Joking. Have to be. Do you have any idea what this means?"

"As a matter of fact, we" – there was the slightest emphasis on the 'we' – "have a very good idea – which is precisely why we're asking."

Prowl snorted. "Why don't _you_ ask him?"

Skyblast turned, then, as if startled into wakefulness by the question, and stared at the Emergency Minicon in surprise.

"We're not _stupid_," he said.

* * *

If Payload had really thought that Makeshift had given up on his teammate, he had made a gross misjudgement. In fact, the two active Emergency Minicons were well aware that their leader might have survived to be found at some point soon – Prowl was openly optimistic – but in the meantime, Firebot's absence was making them miserable… amongst other things.

There was the incomprehensible edict that apparently forbade them from going out and doing their job, which would have cheered them up no end. There was the non-appearance of their jovial partner, whose presence would have made the situation more bearable. There was the now voiceless state of their team: lacking their spokesbot, neither of the others could really rally themselves to speak out on their own behalf. There was the fact that Prowl had trouble relaxing when someone was missing. It was a habit: a useful one, but a habit nonetheless.

Makeshift sat on the counter and stared into space. He'd seen Dune Runner's file now, and while it had enlightened him with regard to the situation, it had in no way made his decision easier. Prowl could take the suggestion – Prowl would probably be delighted, come to think of it; Makeshift himself liked the idea of having someone to help – but as for Dune Runner…

There was the real problem, he thought uneasily. Makeshift knew even he was nervy when it came to team-related problems: one had to be careful for the partners' sakes, but at the end of the day, he would do what needed to be done. The difficulty here was whether Dune Runner would accept, refuse and suffer renewed anguish or simply go into shock or a full mental breakdown.

Makeshift wasn't certain that he was willing to risk it; wasn't certain he could allow himself to risk it.

He heard footsteps behind him as someone entered the room; he knew who it was. Hearing the clatter of someone opening locker doors and rooting through the contents, however, he turned and watched his partner curiously.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, after a few seconds.

Prowl looked up from where he was, kneeling on the floor in front of an open storage locker, surrounded by utensils Makeshift hadn't even gotten around to looking through yet. "I don't know," he said simply, sitting back on his heels and turning his head back to consider his finds, before returning his attention to Makeshift. "Just looking, I guess." The searcher shrugged up at his partner, red visor filled with innocence. "I'm allowed to look, aren't I?" Were he speaking to someone else, the question might have been defensive, but the Emergency Team knew each other well: Prowl's tone was light, almost teasing.

Makeshift responded with an indulgent tone, radiating mild amusement. "Just don't break anything, and try not to mess up the order too much: I'll have to inventory that lot tomorrow, and I'd rather not have to sort it all out first."

"Call _this_ order?" Prowl would have wrinkled his nose if he'd had one. "It's just a mess already; there's nothing more _I_ can do to it."

"I thought Spiral's team would have set it in order when they cleared up these rooms," said Makeshift absently.

"Nah," snorted Prowl. "Looks like the cleaning squad only did the minimum. Nothing new there, of course." He glanced at the jumble around him. "Either that, or they don't know a laser scalpel from a basin. But what can you expect from ignorant conscripts?"

"Didn't Spiral get _you_ to serve on the cleaning squad last week?" frowned the medic.

"And she drove us like slaves, too," nodded Prowl happily. "Merciless, that one."

"Harsh words for someone who values 'speed over strength'."

"Ah," said Prowl gleefully, "but you should have seen her thump Backtrack when he skived off work the second day."

Makeshift looked up in slight alarm. "She did that?"

Prowl shrugged. "Well, he does it a lot, you see. Talking of skiving," he added suddenly, eyeing his team-mate, "you're not doing anything useful. Get down here and help me sort this lot out."

Makeshift hesitated: but after all, why not? The Space Team's problem could wait.

It wasn't long before both teammates were happily involved in their task.

* * *

The Space Team reconvened in their own quarters.

"Prowl was resistant to our suggestion, but I have no doubt that he will come to see the sense of it," said Astroscope.

"Right," said Payload, looking uncomfortable. His teammates looked at him sharply.

"How did your talk with Makeshift go?" Astroscope queried, ignoring the flicker of dread in his core.

"Uh…"

Skyblast groaned. "What happened?"

The black Minicon stared at the floor, trying to decide how he should explain. "Well, I was kinda' nervous about… well, y'know… and I went at it all wrong and then we both got confused for a bit – but it's all right," he added hastily, seeing the others' faces. "I explained: he gets it now."

"Well, thank Primus for that, at least," said Astroscope; Skyblast nodded in agreement, looking relieved. "And what was the outcome of your discussion?"

Payload grunted. "Well, Makeshift doesn't like the idea, but you know _he'd_ do it if he thought it'd help the others. And it will, so he will."

"Yeah," agreed Skyblast doubtfully. "At least they won't be alone then." Astroscope peered carefully at him: Skyblast had been unusually clingy since their reactivation.

"Well, OK," Payload granted, shifting uncomfortably, " but this might not work, you know that. It's a tricky business, interfering in other teams."

"Naturally," said Astroscope sternly, "and of course we could never go around 'mixing and matching' as we pleased. It's just not done."

"For good reason," said Skyblast softly. "People'd get hurt."

"Exactly," agreed the blue one. "But we have given this some thought, and I feel certain of its success. We have put the suggestion to Prowl and Makeshift: now the choice is up to them. If they find the idea too risky, they will back down, and then we shall have no option but to trust their judgement. And if the …graft takes - and it will – then we will, of course, be obliged to monitor their progress. The risk is minimal."

Payload made a noncommittal sound that nevertheless counted as agreement; Skyblast was apparently more reassured by their leader's words, and nodded.

"Funny. This is probably one of those textbook cases of coping under adversity things," he mused. "Or something you hear about in stories. You know, forging unlikely friendships and all that."

"It's not _very_ unlikely," said Astroscope, sounding indignant. "It makes _perfect_ sense."

* * *

Prowl gave a soft whimper, but woke up anyway, activating his visor to see his sole teammate hovering over him with a concerned air. "I'm OK," he said reflexively, despite all evidence to the contrary.

"You were curled up on your side, drifting in and out of recharge, and emitting vocalisations associated with pain." Makeshift was using his 'professional voice', which was usually just a more logical version of his normal one. Now he sounded prim, as if suppressing his feelings.

Prowl decided to sabotage his efforts. "You were awake. Having trouble resting?" The silver medic did not deign to answer; Prowl snorted. "Thought so."

"Old habits die hard."

"Yeah." Prowl sat up properly, head tilted up at his partner. "It's like we're back on Cybertron, waiting for news that there's been another attack."

"Well, it's the same situation, more or less."

"We could try praying." Prowl mimed bowing to the ceiling. "O mighty alarm, please go off so that we can find Firebot." He paused and glanced at Makeshift. "We need an offering, really. What do you think an alarm would want?"

"I don't know," answered Makeshift honestly. "But what was the dream?" he asked, before his partner could go back to bowing.

Prowl made a face. "Rubbish. All stuff about collapsed buildings and landslides and minefields."

Makeshift made a noise of exasperation. "You wait five million years and _now_ you have nightmares about our job?"

Prowl shrugged. "Eh, they weren't nightmares, just stuff." He frowned. "Except for that last one."

"Really?" asked Makeshift, softly.

"Yeah. It was weird: I had to find this chocolate bar before it melted, and the building was on fire. I don't know why I had to." The investigator shook his head. "Actually, I think I remember something about Optimus Prime needing it to defeat the Decepticons and stop them from repainting Jetfire." Prowl's visor flickered as he remembered more. "Again."

"Again what?"

"Repainting Jetfire again. Let's face it: dreams make no sense."

"True." Makeshift glanced around. "I'm going to see if Long Arm has any work to do. I might be a while."

"Hey, I can handle being alone for an hour or three. Give me a chance to catch up on some recharge while I haven't got you hanging over my head."

"Hah. Very funny. I'll be back soon."

"I'd better hurry, then, hadn't I?"

When his partner was safely gone, Prowl stopped settling himself on the bunk and sat up again, shaking his head sadly. It was typical of Makeshift, he reflected as he got up and headed out into the hallway, to get far too caught up in sparing people harm to think that they might have their own ideas about matters.

* * *

Someone poked Skyblast in the back.

He knew before he turned that it wasn't any of the people he knew well, but he still didn't expect to see the deep blue car-bot.

"Mind if I talk to you?" asked Spiral.

"No," Skyblast answered cautiously, wondering what the leader of the Street Speed team wanted to talk to him about. One subject sprang to mind as he watched her take a seat.

"It's Dune Runner."

Skyblast really hated being right sometimes.

"Yes?" he asked slowly, keeping his voice down, as she had done: there were a fair few people around even at this, the quietest hour of the day.

Spiral hesitated, and then blurted out, "What's the big deal with him? I know he's lonely, but, sure, we're going to find his teammates: it's not great for him in the meantime, and seeing him like this makes all of us uncomfortable, sure. But the way he is… I don't get it. And why's everyone avoiding him?"

"Have _you_ tried talking to him?"

"No… oh, I see what you mean." Spiral paused. "But why am I acting like that?"

"Isn't that something you should be telling me?"

"I don't know. I want to cheer him up, but..." she trailed off, confusion in her green optics. "It's like he's radiating a 'keep away' signal."

Skyblast nodded, though whether it was to her or to himself, she couldn't be sure. "He doesn't want company."

Spiral stared as if he'd just announced Megatron's early retirement. "What?"

The Space Minicon made a kind of rattling noise. "Hard to explain. Basically, he doesn't want to be comforted. To simplify, he's sulking."

Spiral made an incredulous sound. "So he's just wallowing in his own misery?"

"You can't really blame him," said Skyblast. "Dune Runner doesn't take well to being alone at the best of times, and he can't even go outside. He'd like that. And he really misses the others."

"I understand that." The Street Speed leader fixed him with a mock glare. "I _can_ be sensitive sometimes."

"That's news to me," said Skyblast innocently. She leaned across and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Manners, space-boy. I'm surprised Astroscope didn't teach you better."

"He tried, but he couldn't quite get rid of Payload's influence."

"Nonsense. Payload's a perfect gentleman: don't try and pin the blame on him. You're the troublemaker of the team."

"Guilty, of course, but I take my duties very seriously." Skyblast shifted position and changed the subject out of curiosity. "My turn to ask a question: why'd you think I would understand?"

"Everyone knows you Space Minicons are smarter than some lumbering halfwits realise." The deep blue 'bot glanced around to see that nobody was listening, and continued slyly, "'Sides, I've been hearing a story or two about you." Spiral shook her head. "When _I_ woke up, I offered the kids I ride, not took a shot at them."

Skyblast gave an embarrassed smile. "Mm, that wasn't exactly one of my most well-thought out moves. But I wasn't in a great frame of mind."

"Tell me about it," said Spiral sympathetically, remembering her own initial daze. Skyblast looked lost in thought; she considered him for a little, and then reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Tell me about it," she said again, and meant it.

"Well," he began, looking uncertain, "you know we're gestaltmates; we really couldn't handle separation very well and we didn't want to risk losing each other. We wanted to make sure of what we were doing when we went into stasis. Astroscope designed our panels especially in case of an emergency: he had a hand in all the gestalt panels. The Street Action Team were content to be stored in the command centre – one of the more heavily armoured parts of the ship – as they'd be involved in piloting the ship, and the Race Team settled for their panels being repeatedly reinforced. We were all a bit paranoid, really.

"But we and the Air Defence Team had been combiners longer: Astroscope helped them fix it so that unless all three of them were safely together, they couldn't be reactivated at all."

"Nobody told me that," interrupted Spiral. "They already had the Sabre when I came. They told me about how they'd had to collect all three of them to form the Sabre, but not that they wouldn't activate at all otherwise." She shook her head. "Creepy. Carry on. You haven't told me about your team yet."

Skyblast nodded. "We'd have preferred our panels to work the same way. But we ran out of time. Fact is, there were a good few other teams who'd have liked that kind of arrangement, but gestalts got priority. When we finally had to go, our team had things organised so that the first one of us to be reactivated would signal the others' panels. If both of them were fine, then the one who was awake would activate them."

"But if not…" Spiral shuddered, beginning to understand. "And you woke first."

"Yes. I woke alone, knew I was alone… knew what I had to do. But… I was terrified. Terrified that I'd call and only one would answer, or neither would, and I'd be left alone forever." The white Minicon was shivering, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge these thoughts. "I just remember standing there, having to call them, wanting to call them, afraid I'd get no answer…"

The blue one reached over and put her hand on his arm in a gesture of reassurance. "No wonder you freaked a bit," she said sympathetically. "Poor thing. Do your partners know – wait, of course they do."

"Yeah. That's why we just combine every now and again, just for the feel of it." Skyblast smiled weakly at her. "I envied the Air Defence Team then – I still do, sort of," he said. "I'm getting over it fine, it's just hard not to remember sometimes – and seeing Dune Runner in the same position isn't helping." He shot a sidelong glance in the direction of the Adventure Minicon's table.

"Then what are you doing in here?" exclaimed Spiral, getting to her feet. "Come on, you daft creature; let's go and find somewhere that doesn't traumatise you. I've an idea or two I want to get your opinion on…"

As the pair left, they passed Makeshift, who had just come into the room and was gathering himself for the attempt he was about to make. He didn't even notice that they passed him.

* * *

It was called the Req. Room.

It wasn't to be confused with the Rec. Room, which was a different place entirely. The Rec. Room was where you went to hang out in public, demonstrate that you were still alive and more-or-less functional and possibly to annoy a certain group of larger robots.

The rest of the time, you haunted the Req. Room.

It had started when some of the Minicons, at risk of being bored out of their shells, had dropped a note into the command room along the lines of 'Were bored, have gone to explore and battle denizens of the lower levels/back rooms of base. Hope you don't mind, will be back after teatime.'

Nobody had yet commented on the matter.

Spiral had taken on the task of cataloguing, repairing and assigning the unexplored rooms of the base, and since Backtrack could not be relied on to do anything much, Oval had ended up with inventorying the supplies.

Later, Spiral realised this had been a mistake. By then it was really too late to do anything about it, even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. After all, it was a Minicon domain with unlimited access to the supplies of a colony ship: who was she to complain? Besides, if the rest of the base needed anything, she knew how to get it off Oval.

Makeshift didn't know how many of the Autobots even knew about the arrangement: if there were any who did, they seemed content to let things lie. As well for them, he thought: Minicons had missiles that were easily as big as theirs, if not as many. Mostly, this was because after the first one or two, they rarely needed any more. What was it Rollbar sometimes said? "It ain't the size of the gun: it's the size of the bang"? Sounded about right. It was true, anyway.

Minicons liked bangs.

Makeshift was perhaps the exception: bangs meant pain for his patients and pain for himself. Now he was wary of the bangs he could foresee if this went wrong. But he had to do it, for Dune Runner's sake. He had to try, at least. And then there was Prowl… Prowl who was still restless, who kept pacing around the place, unable to settle or rest, who had been caught again today looking for nothing he could name.

Despite his best efforts, Makeshift was nervous. It was silly; he was doing this for a good reason, and the risk was great only in his own mind. But this _felt_ like such an intensely personal matter, such a difficult thing to do.

He didn't have to rush it. He didn't want to risk Prowl, but he would dare to approach Dune Runner alone. He'd have to talk to Dune Runner first; get to know him, sound him out. Then he could decide how to go about it.

Makeshift shook himself slightly. Time to go. He began making his way purposefully towards the table he was after, and then froze as he recognised the figure who was already there and waving him over.

"Makeshift!" Prowl greeted him when he got there. "I was just talking to Dune Runner about you."

"You were?" Makeshift couldn't help being mildly suspicious; he'd been Prowl's partner for a long time, after all.

"Yes," said Dune Runner, examining the new arrival closely. "He told me about your team-mate. We have to leave things to the Autobots, while we stay behind and fix their sorry shells afterwards. Pity we can't mount our own search party," he added.

"Yeah," agreed Prowl enthusiastically. "Then we wouldn't feel so frelling helpless."

"The Autobots think we _are _helpless," Dune Runner pointed out, his visor flaring blue.

"Then we'll have to demonstrate otherwise, won't we?" said Makeshift thoughtfully. Prowl looked closely at him for a minute.

"I know that look," he declared, then, to Dune Runner, he explained, "He's got a plan."

"Mmmhmm," agreed Makeshift. "It's just occurred to me. I mean, there are a few tricky bits, but…"

Prowl radiated grin. "I knew it." He turned to Dune Runner. "Join us," he declared grandly.

"What?" asked Dune Runner, understandably alarmed. _Where did this come from?_

"In finding our assorted partners," Prowl said. "We've a spare bunk anyway."

"Why would I want to? Why would you want me to?"

"Rumour has it you know a hawk from a handsaw and a laser scalpel from a basin. Such genius should be nurtured," Prowl relied in a solemn voice. Then, much more lightly, he added, "And don't you want to show the Autobots how it's done?"

Dune Runner stared at him, and wasn't sure what to say until he felt a gentle hand on his. He turned and met Makeshift's gaze.

"Please," said the medic gently, surprised himself by how confident he was. "We could use some good company as well as the help."

"I don't know…"

"Eh, let us know when you do. Hey, Makeshift," Prowl poked his partner to get his attention. "Weren't you looking for Long Arm? He's over there: come on, let's go find out what he knows."

"I was going to ask _politely_ if he had any work," Makeshift cautioned him as they stood up. "We're not pumping him for information, remember that."

Prowl made a face. "I know, I know. Just because Liftor complained after I asked about the search party last week…"

They were moving away from the table now. "Because you're not supposed to interrogate people like that. I'm going to have to ban you from those humans…"

"Hey!"

Prowl's visor flickered simultaneously with Makeshift's as he realised that someone else had spoken. They turned back to Dune Runner, who was giving them a mutinous glare: Prowl fought back a sudden impossible and hitherto totally unknown urge to gulp.

"Hey," Dune Runner repeated. "I didn't say I wasn't coming."

* * *

"Hi, Long Arm!"

The black and orange technician had been chatting quite amiably with Astroscope when he heard his name being called, and looked around to see Prowl, Makeshift and Dune Runner bearing down on him. Makeshift was looking slightly worried.

Long Arm had been in the base long enough to learn more about danger signs and survival techniques than he had ever thought possible. _Rule No. 476: When there are three people coming your way, and the sensible one is looking worried, and the others are much, much too happy for your liking, this is not good._

"Mind my drink," he said to the blue Space 'bot. "And if I'm not back in three hours, tell Red Alert I spilt the acid last week."

"Anything else?"

Long Arm thought for a second. "I guess he wasn't such a bad partner, either," he admitted, and bolted.

* * *

"That wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd anticipated," said Makeshift. The trio had pursued their quarry into the hallways, and Dune Runner had gone out of earshot to look down a side corridor.

Prowl gave his partner a funny look. "What, you expected him to make a break for it?"

"No, I was talking about Dune Runner."

"Oh. Well, that's no surprise."

"Why?"

"Because even though you're smarter than three Autobots and a Decepticon put together, sometimes, partner mine, you're just as much of a ninny as the rest of us. It's always harder before you do it, remember?" The investigator's senses nudged him and he turned in time to see a black and orange crane making its getaway down the corridor. "There he goes! After him!"

Dune Runner immediately barrelled out from the hall he'd been checking and transformed into his dune buggy form. "He's getting away!"

Prowl transformed and joined him in chasing the crane, who had realised its mistake (namely, that no crane can outrun an overenthusiastic pursuit car and dune buggy) and was now yelling something at them. It sounded like "Get back! Back!"

_HOW did I end up with two of them? _Makeshift wondered, and then transformed and flew after them. It looked like he'd have to break up the party, if only in defence of Long Arm's sanity. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

Doing the right thing wasn't always a lot of fun, but Makeshift did it anyway. Payload had been right about one thing else: he would always try. You couldn't rebel against your own nature when you knew it was right.

If there was a problem with that logic, Makeshift didn't care to know it.

* * *

_My excuse: hey, got to wonder how some of those teams coped after waking up to find they'd crashed into a war zone, not knowing if their beloved partners/best friends/bartenders were alive and well or not._

_Either way… It is done! I am free! Well… at least until Sonar finds me. (Looks about suspiciously and backs out of sight)_

_Prowl:( Stomps into view and glares after her) Hey, don't you want to know what people thought?_

_Pivot: Of that? NO!_

_Prowl: …Well, I do. (Stalks off, muttering about authors and purple wind vanes)_


End file.
